The Lost
by EllisBelle
Summary: While the creatures of light and darkness battle across the midway, two unlikely characters meet and find something that they have been missing . . . (Featuring Iris and Libby)


_The Fine Print: DK and HBO own Carnivale and these characters. I would just like to have Libby and Iris over to my house to **play** sometime, especially Iris. _

_Author's Notes: I'll be the first to admit that these two characters will probably never meet. But I love them both ever so much because they are so very flawed and tragic. So here they are, together. There's the barest touch of a femme slash here, but not really. (Hey, I've got to go with what I know.) _

_Edit (Feb. 24): Its Sofie with an "f" not "ph". Thanks to the reviewer who pointed that out. My dog's name is Sophie, too and she spells her name with a "ph". Force of habit._

The Lost 

By EllisBelle

Libby Dreiffus slipped out of the back of the cooch tent into the still night air, tying the sash of her kimono with one hand as she cradled a half empty bottle of tequila in the other. This bottle—and many others like it—had become her friends more and more frequently as of late. A poor substitute for her former drinking partner, Sofie. Truth be told, spending time alone with Sofie was the real reason she started spending her afternoons drinking in the first place.

There wasn't a chance she could be with Sofie now. Sofie was with Ben. Libby still didn't understand how that had happened. She could've maybe understood if it was Jonesy—they had a certain history together. But Ben Hawkins?

But it did happen. Just like that. After the fire. After Sofie's ma died. Libby had forgiven Sofie almost immediately for what she had done. She tried not to let the experience of betrayal ruin the other, more pleasant, experience from that night. Making love to Sofie. Well almost. Even if they were interrupted, it was still the closest she'd ever come to _making love_. That was something she had only read about in her mom's trashy dime store novels. Never mind that it was in the back a truck under a dirty tarp. It couldn't have been any better had it been in some swank hotel in Hollywood, like the ones from the pages of her magazines.

She was alone between the tents now, away from all the leering and hollering and grasping hands. She could still hear the sounds of the crowds just on the other side of the tents. Taking a long swig of the liquor, Libby rounded the corner of the tent and saw that she wasn't alone after all. A woman was kneeling down beside the tent, almost hidden by some crates. If she hadn't known better, Libby would've thought the woman was praying. And that definitely looked outa place around here.

Thin lines appeared around the woman's mouth as her lips narrowed into a frown and then parted again as she mumbled something under her breath. The woman looked distraught and broken, just like Libby herself felt these days.

Libby didn't know what was going on across the midway. Had no idea that the fate of the universe depended on the actions of three people now locked away inside management's trailer. Her lover, some roustie, and that preacher from the radio. That man was the one who'd been preaching about them to everybody. Sending out his hateful message across the airwaves. His followers damn near caused riots outside the gates.

But the people still came. Fought their way through the crowds to come to the Carnivale. They came to get their fortunes read and their pockets picked. Came to see her dance. To win cheap toys and just forget about the bread lines and the dust for a few hours. To escape. Sofie said that the Carnivale woke people up when it came to town, but Libby had always thought that they lulled the rubes into a sorta dream.

"Hey," she offered in the redhead's direction. The other woman didn't move, didn't acknowledge that she had been spoken to. "Hey," she said a little louder. "You know you ain't really supposed to be back here." Still no reaction. Libby sat down the bottle and started to light a cigarette, studying the woman. "You want one of these," Libby asked, holding out the pack. The woman opened her eyes. She still didn't move but she meet Libby's stare. Libby waited a beat. "Guess not," she mumbled under her breath. She looked again at the way the woman was dressed. Very dark and severe clothes but nice and fancy. Probably cost a lot. Her hair looked a bit disheveled and had started to come out of its pins. Standing above her, Libby noticed too that the woman's roots were starting to show, darker bits laced with scattered gray. She raised her free hand to brush through her own peroxided locks. Libby remembered how Sofie had smiled when she showed her what she had done to her hair. Sofie had told her she looked like a _movie star_.

Libby figured the woman had to be one of those protesters from the gates who had somehow gotten inside.

"You're not prayin' for our souls or something are you?" Libby asked, taking another drag from her cigarette.

"No. It's too late for all of that now," the woman whispered.

Libby studied the woman for a moment. She wasn't quite sure she had heard her correctly. But thinking over the events of the last few months, Libby laughed. "You can say that again."

The more she looked at the woman, the more familiar the woman seemed to be. Libby thought back to all those headlines in the papers—the ones her dad read aloud to them over breakfast. And then she remembered seeing this woman's face. Standing next to the preacher. His wife? No, his sister. Something or other Crowe.

"You're with them aren't you? You're his sister, right? The preacher's?"

Iris nodded.

Libby felt anger boiling up inside of her. Their lives had never been easy, but having those religious freaks outside had made them ten times harder. Libby looked at the woman and saw the source of all her problems in one convenient figure.

"You've caused all this. The crowds outside the gates. The people throwing rocks at our trucks. How the hell can you people do this?" Libby raved. "Preach about us bein' damned? You don't know us from Adam's housecat. What do you know about hell anyhow? I've driven by that church of yours. Like some sort of fucking castle . . ." Libby's tirade ended suddenly as Iris stood up, squaring her shoulders, glaring at Libby in return.

"I know more about _hell_ than you ever care to learn, _little girl_."

Iris watched Libby indignantly for a moment before she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as the horrible sound escaped. Tears started to etch down her face as she slumped back against the crates.

Looking into this woman's tired, sad eyes, Libby could believe that she did indeed know a thing or two about hell. But then so did Libby. Dora Mae's face came unbidden to her mind—pale and blue, carved and mutilated. Libby stood awkwardly, beginning to feel guilty for yelling at the Crowe woman. She took a few steps until she was standing right in front of Iris. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry. Don't cry," Libby offered. "What's the matter?"

Iris shook her head. "It's all lost now."

"What is? Did you lose your purse or somethin'? Cause if you tell me where you think you lost it, I can have one of the rousties get it back for you."

"No." She looked pointedly over Libby's shoulder in the direction of Management's trailor. Libby followed her gaze and knew exactly where she meant. Management's tailor was kind of like Rome. All roads led to it. She had seen Sofie go in there earlier with Ben, before she had to do her show. Ben was always skulking about in there. And lately so was Sofie. That place had always given Libby the creeps though, and she tried not to go anywhere near it.

"I didn't think it was that simple." Libby looked at her feet, digging first the toe and then the heel of her shoe into the dirt, trying to find something to say. She noticed the bottle of tequila and picked it up, offering it to Iris. "Here try this. It doesn't make it any better. But your head'll hurt so bad in the mornin' that you'll forget about what ever it is that's makin' you cry-for a little while at least." To her surprise, Iris took the bottle in shaky hands and turned it up. She swallowed a big gulp and coughed, wiping at her mouth.

"That's it," Libby giggled, despite the funk she had been in for so long. She flopped down onto her bare knees, settling into the dust in front of Iris.

Iris handed the bottle back to Libby and Libby took another chug, closing her eyes as the liquid burned down her throat to settle into the pool of growing warmth in her stomach.

Never one to bogart the booze, Libby tilted the bottle back towards Iris in a silent invitation, glad to not be drinking alone for once, no matter who the company was. Iris shook her head and put up her hand in protest.

"I'll just take your turn then," teased Libby, before she drank deep again—trying to bring herself just that much closer to sweet drunken oblivion. Somewhere in the back of her mind Libby realized how pathetic she must appear. Getting pissed in the dirt with some Baptist bastard's old maid sister.

She cradled the bottle between her knees and mindlessly trailed her fingers through the dust, making wavy patterns on the ground. She looked back over at the woman, only to see to her irritation that Iris was once again staring off in the direction of Management. She looked as if she had completely forgotten that Libby was sitting less than a foot from her. Libby smashed the bottle down into the dirt, obliterating the little patterns she had made. Why did everyone seem to forget about her, Libby wondered, when she was still right under their noses?

Narrowing her eyes a bit, she studied the woman's profile in the scant light from the midway. This woman was old enough to be her mother with more than a few years to spare, that was sure. But she probably wasn't as old as Ruthie. Not that it really mattered how old you were when you still looked like Ruthie did in those snake charmin' outfits of hers, Libby thought with just the slightest hint of a smirk.

Libby finally laid her hand on Iris's knee to get her attention. "You want to tell me what's wrong now?" Libby tried again. "I bet it can't be as bad as what's happened to me lately . . ." she trailed off realizing that the other woman's attention was still focused on some unseen target. Libby raised herself up on her knees so that she was just about level with Iris. Tentatively, she laid the palm of her hand against Iris's cheek and turned her face so that she was looking her in the eyes. Iris blinked a few times before focusing her eyes on Libby's. Both women recognized the look of profound loss and sadness that they saw in the other's eyes. They saw that look every time they gazed into the mirror. Libby stroked Iris's cheek ever so slightly. A raged breath escaped Iris's lips at Libby's caress. She put her hand over Libby's for a moment, closing her eyes, moved by the first touch of genuine compassion she had felt in longer than she could remember.

She almost wanted to laugh as this skinny, scantily clad carnie girl kneeling before her unwittingly brought out in her what Justin had so wanted that night on the porch. When she had been ready to let herself be sacrificed for Justin's cause, that night that Tommy Dolan had been arrested for _her_ crimes, Justin wanted one thing from her and she couldn't give it to him.

Iris Crowe finally _felt_. Felt remorse and regret, brought out by the simplest, most unassuming of human touches. This girl was . . . good, simply a good person despite what her profession obviously was. How ironic that she would find that in this girl. Iris suddenly felt unworthy to be touched by someone so uncorrupted. The guilt and revulsion she now felt over the lives she had taken, the blood that was on her hands—and the horrible knowledge that she would do it all again despite the remorse, if only he asked—came welling out of her in a cry that broke past her lips before she could control it.

Without thinking, Libby leaned forward and pressed her lips roughly against Iris's, cutting off her wail and swallowing the sound in her own mouth. Libby couldn't find one reason for what she was doing, but she ran her hand along the other woman's neck and tangled her fingers in her hair, cutting off Iris's escape.

Iris felt like the earth had suddenly been pulled out from under her, making her stomach flip. She could only liken the feeling to the moment that a Ferris wheel first rises up, lifting you from the ground. She had only been on the Ferris wheel once—with Justin. He'd kissed her there, high up above the town. And she could never figure out if it had been the dizzying tilt of the Ferris wheel or the shock of realizing that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him, her own brother, that had stolen her sense of gravity.

Libby was shocked to feel Iris's lips finally part in response. She had fully expected to be slapped and prayed over at any moment. Iris returned the kiss tentatively at first, her lips barely brushing Libby's, then retreating and advancing and starting again. The breath from their parted, seeking mouths mixing, Libby felt as if she were breathing through Iris.

Libby didn't know who the woman was thinking about as they kissed but she couldn't help but feel the ghosts of Sofie's lips gently pressing against hers as they kissed for the first time.

Iris put her hand against Libby's throat and pushed her away. The girl looked stricken, sitting there in the dust staring up at her. She hadn't meant to be harsh but she had to stop what was happening. She brushed her hand against Libby's cheek, trying to smooth away the girl's confused expression. Iris rose unsteadily to her feet and looked once more across the Carnivale—towards what remained of her family—and then back down at Libby. She smiled weakly at her before deciding to finally answer Libby's question. "One way or the other," she spoke, staring into Libby's eyes sadly, "he's lost now."

Libby opened her mouth to ask who she was talking about, but before she could speak, Iris had turned and was already walking away from her toward the midway.

Libby clutched at handfuls of dust letting it slip through her fingers and thought of Sofie. Libby whispered to herself, "Yeah, so is she."


End file.
